


The Sociopath fell in love with a Psychopath (and other blatant untruths)

by lucifel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifel/pseuds/lucifel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven lies. Sort of. (I should probably warn for cliches.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sociopath fell in love with a Psychopath (and other blatant untruths)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Passing mention of bullying and teenage suicide. Gross abuse of English grammar and tenses.

1\. **_The Sociopath fell in love with a Psychopath._**

 **4:23 am December 18th, 2009  
Donovan, get this: I think the freak just fell in love. Sick.**

 **5:30 am December 18th, 2009  
I heard! Just booked her. The "sociopath" fell in love with an actual psychopath. What a joke.**

 **6:30 am December 18th, 2009  
WRONG. Both of you. Donovan, don't listen to Anderson. It lowers your already poor IQ. SH.**

She sat folded against the wall, a tiny little slip of a thing with bare feet tangled in her long white dress. Sixteen or Twenty-Six or somewhere in between. Sherlock couldn't really tell through the grime and the blood and the dark fall of hair that obscured half her face. In this instance, he wasn't entirely certain that it mattered. She'd given him one hell of a chase.

"They were very neat kills." He complimented, "Very... clean."

It made her smile. Or at least, Sherlock thought it was a smile on her face.

"Thank you."

"But I don't understand why."

"Why what?"

"Why them."

Her smile widened.

"But there isn't a why."

"There has to be."

"There isn't."

He didn't believe her. There was a reason, but he couldn't see it. It was there, so very close but he couldn't -.

"Don't you believe in randomness?" She asked.

"No."

He made her laugh.

"Then I'll show you."

She cut her finger on something; not a weapon, a rock. He'd already disarmed her. She wrote out the formulas for him in swirls of mud and blood, making new cuts on different fingers when the first began to clot. By the time the police arrived, she'd finished and sat with her arms draped round Sherlock's neck and her head resting on his shoulder. (He'd have to get the coat dry-cleaned.)

"See?"

He didn't, not yet. So he'd put his hands round her waist and protested when Lestrade tried to take her away. She'd clung to him because he was the first person who'd ever stopped to admire the beauty of her mathematics.

It took him approximately two hours to understand what it was that she'd written. When he did, he was incredibly disappointed.

"BOR-ING!"

 

2\. **_Sherlock Holmes has no fondness for money because he grew up with plenty of it._**

 **"Did you hear?"**

 **"Hear what?"**

 **"Freak's got a flat mate."**

 **"Freak... Lestrade's consultant?**

 **"Who else?"**

 **"Huh. Strange one that. Can't imagine him with... well."**

 **"I know!"**

 **"Why'd he do it?"**

 **"Do what?"**

 **"Get a flat mate... I mean - I don't know him personally like you lot do but I've seen him round. Posh accent, fancy clothes. New cell phone every time he's here. Doesn't charge us for the work. Family must be rich as anything. Can't imagine why he'd need a flat mate."**

 **"Who knows. Maybe it's an _experiment_."**

 **"Ha!"**

It was not an experiment.

It was, in fact, financial necessity that drew Sherlock Holmes to Baker St and John Watson both. The sorts of lodgings that came free, (or at any other price Sherlock could independently afford,) generally also came with mice, little (if any) reliable electricity, and very little heat. (He would know, he had lived in such lodgings for a great many years.)

Sherlock had never been rich. Not when he'd been a child and Mummy had cried over not having enough money to buy food. Not when he was an adult and found himself with an expensive cocaine addiction to support. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

More to the point, Sherlock didn't care for money. As a child he had, occasionally, stolen some to help Mummy when she'd needed it. (He never understood why it made her cry. She needed it. So he'd gotten it for her. What did it matter _how_ he'd done so? Pick-pocketing was a useful skill!) Not having money for food simply meant that he'd learned not to eat so much. Not having money for school had meant 'Pretending' for people long enough to get a scholarship to Harrow as Mycroft had done before him. (Boring. Terribly so. But it had made Mummy happy.) Money, in short, didn't matter.

Except, of course, to everyone else.

(For the record: Sherlock's clothes, though they appealed to his vanity, came from Mycroft who valued such things. And the new cell phones weren't so much 'new' as 'recently-liberated' from various employees of the Met.)

 

3. ** _Greg Lestrade organizes drug busts because they're good for boosting morale._**

 **"Oi, Anderson, where're you lot headed?"**

 **"Drugs bust."**

 **"Again?"**

 **"Team needs a morale boost, Lestrade said so. And it's been a weeks since the last one. I checked."**

Technically, the drugs busts _were_ good for team morale, but Greg Lestrade didn't think of them as bonding exercises. Rather, he thought of them as the perfect way to conceal those mother hen tendencies he'd forever deny having. (Though he wondered, sometimes, if Anderson would ever notice that he was, in effect, doing Sherlock's dishes and organizing the man's cupboards for him.)

It was a bit strange, even to himself, that Greg had fixated on Sherlock of all people to look out for. His therapist, if he had ever bothered to see her, would've had a field day with it.

By now, Greg had forgotten that, when he first met Sherlock, the man had reminded him rather keenly of Jason. (Dead Jason. Sweet Jason. Little Jason.) Jason who'd never met his now ex-wife or their boys. (But would've been just as cross with them as Sherlock was.) Jason who hadn't been there to watch their mother die. Jason, with his dark curly hair and too-skinny face who had died just a little too young. In his fouler moments, Greg found himself remembering that he'd missed his own university graduation to attend his stupid brother's funeral. (Heroine. An overdose. Greg hadn't even been there.)

So, now, Greg orchestrates drugs busts at Sherlock's where he takes tea with John and Mrs. Hudson and doesn't realize that it's another older brother who keeps him from getting chastised for misuse of departmental resources.

4\. **_John Watson is hapless with women._**

John doesn't usually call Harry on a Friday. (John doesn't usually call Harry at all.) But she's been making an honest attempt at getting sober and he is, apparently, a part of the however many step program she'd joined.

He should've known she'd turn it all around on him.

"John -."

" Leave off."

"I won't!"

"Harry -."

"You know I'm right."

"You're not."

"This is the third week in a row now that you've been home when I called!"

"So I've been off my game. Bit hapless with women I guess so-."

"You haven't been 'hapless' with women since you figured out what sex was."

"Harry!"

"Don't. Even. You remember turning eighteen? Because I remember you turning eighteen. I _distinctly_ remember you figuring out that it was easier to pull when you had your sister with you because straight girls liked your shy, sweet little -."

"Harry!"

"You played that card so many times that even I could do it by the time -."

"I don't remember you complaining about -."

"And after that there was the 'I'm a doctor' one followed by the 'I'm a soldier' one followed by -."

"You know no such thing - I swear if you -."

"I _know_ John. I know because I know you and you're a Watson and we are bloody _great_ with women unless we don't want to be."

"Which means that I don't want to be? Of all the rubbish -"

"It _means_ that you've found something you want more, love."

"I -."

" And he's it."

"You don't know that."

"But you do."

 

5. ** _Sherlock Holmes doesn't have a heart._**

 **"Sherlock, stop."**

 **"No."**

 **"Sherlock, they're _children_."**

 **"Precisely. The average human remembers -."**

 **"Sherlock! Damn it - Donavon go get John."**

 **" - and Children remember even less which is why I need to speak to them NOW Lestrade."**

 **"No!"**

 **"Sherlock?"**

 **"John. Good. You at least must see reason. They -."**

 **"Sherlock, they're traumatized enough as it is. Leave them be for now and -."**

 **"And they'll forget!"**

 **"Sherlock, look at them. Have a heart -."**

 **"Sorry, no heart here. Haven't _got_ one remember?"**

 

So they'd had a fight. People. Had. Fights. Normal people had fights all the time. Sherlock had fights with normal people all the time. John -.

John had gotten so upset this time that he'd flushed no fewer than three of Sherlock's experiments down the toilet before tossing a fourth one through the window and storming out.

Sherlock didn't even remember what they'd fought over. (He hadn't been listening. Which might have been half the problem right there.)

Stupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupid _stupid_.

Sherlock had known that this would happen. That eventually there would be a line and he would cross it and that that first, long delayed, "piss-off", would find its way out of John's mouth in rather spectacular fashion and it would hurt all the more for how long it had taken to emerge.

John had been gone for a day now. (A day. A whole day. Twenty four hours and thirty three minutes. Where? Surely not to Sarah's. Harry's? Unlikely. Sherlock should know. Would know - if he could just -.)

It was just a stupid fight.

He'd come back.

Or, perhaps, it would be better if he didn't. Perhaps John staying away would be best. Sherlock would be able to concentrate then. If John left there would be one less weapon for Moriarty to use against him. One less -.

"Sherlock?"

One less weakness, because the feeling in Sherlock's chest - the rapid beat that felt like the tick of a bomb speeding up, the pressure of something compressing just before it decided to explode - was surely a weakness that Moriarty would know how to exploit.

John, standing in the doorway, looked a bit shaken.

Sherlock supposed that his appearance was a tad more ghastly than usual. (Had he dressed? Had he drank? Was he pale?) He steeled himself to tell John to get out, to leave. His voice wavered.

"John I... I'm sorry."

 

6. **_Anderson has herpes (and maybe syphilis too)._**

Sherlock didn't know what Anderson had said to set John off today, but he imagined that it must have been something spectacular.

"You're listing him in the national STD carrier registry?" Sherlock asked as he walked by John to settle into his usual chair. (He'd meant to steal the doctor's laptop along the way, but that could wait.)

"He deserves it. He's an arse."

Anderson was, indeed, as ass. Sherlock had been trying to impress this upon the population at large for a while now but John had never conceded the point before. He was, in fact, drunk. And, as it wasn't appreciation for Sherlock's insights into Anderson's worthlessness that was driving his current action, Sherlock was inclined to be contrary.

"He would." He conceded, "If it were true." Which it's not.

"You don't know that it's not."

"You're a doctor John. You would've seen the signs."

"Sherlock -." John sounded exasperated as he twisted round to study Sherlock from the corner of his eye.

"Just... just leave it."

Sherlock doesn't know how to explain about Harrow and the gossip mongers and the suicide of a classmate that had at first seemed like a murder. (It hadn't been. It had, in fact, been a very boring case.) But that classmate might've been Sherlock, (might've, if it weren't for his being so clever,) might've, if there'd been the whole of the internet to multiply and compound the stupidity of his so called peers. He didn't like to toss John in with that group.

"Just leave it." He repeats.

So John does.

Sherlock takes the opportunity to steal the laptop.

7\. **_Sherlock Holmes gives a shit about Anderson._**

 **"Anderson."**

 **"John."**

 **"How's that eye healing?"**

 **"You should know. Being a doctor and a thug and the one who caused it and all."**

 **"Well you - you know, I - he - the only reason I didn't do worse was because he stood up for you."**

 **"What?"**

 **"Sherlock. He stood up for you. I was going to - I hadn't gotten it all out of my system yet. He stopped me. Stood up for you."**

 **"You're lying."**

 **"I am not."**

 **"... Sherlock Holmes stood up for me?"**

 

It was a Tuesday when Moriarty surfaced again, disturbing their lives like a bad case of Herpes that always recurred at precisely the wrong moment.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said numbly as he stood in Lestrade's office, staring at the clues Moriarty had left for him. "I don't..." I don't understand, but he'd already said that. His fingers, which were already circled tightly around John's wrist, closed tighter.

John winced.

"It's a kidnapping. No Semtex this time but apparently we've got six hours before something in that room kills him."

"Him."

"Anderson. Moriarty took Anderson."

It didn't make any more sense now that Lestrade had said it aloud. Hadn't Jim promised to burn the heart out of him? How could _Jim Moriarty_ make such a spectacular mistake as to take _Anderson_? There had to be something that they weren't seeing.

Something Sherlock had missed.

"But _why_ would Moriarty take _Anderson_?! I mean, he's welcome to him, but -."

"SHERLOCK!"

"Right." Sherlock paused, "We should... save Anderson?"

"Yes!"

"...right, then."

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended this to be a quick, silly, humorous little slip of thing so I dashed it off rather quickly.
> 
> I apologize for the bits that might seem a bit off and the bits where cliches abound. What happened was that I have two other stories I'm working on but little bits of dialogue that didn't fit kept popping into my head so I've put them here. Hopefully, they will now leave me alone.
> 
> This hasn't been Brit-picked so feel free to correct me if you catch anything. : )


End file.
